I can’t say I ever wondered what it felt like to be human. But then, my grandfather Grenat always said, ‘It’s safer not to talk to your food,’ ― and as every dragon knows, humans are the most dangerous kind of meal there is.

It was the most beautiful sweet roll Bee had ever seen. A flawless circle, puffy from rising, it was studded with raisins and drizzled with pink icing. She could feel the hunger rake its claws along her stomach lining as she gazed at it.

It certainly wasn’t regular food that waited for him at the front of the Refectory. Steaming stone cauldrons along one side held an assortment of bizarre-looking food: stewed purple tubers, greens so dark they were almost black, fuzzy lichen, and a red speckled mushroom cap as large as a pizza and sliced up like a pie …. Tamara was already putting a scoop of the green stuff onto her plate. Aaron, however, was staring at the selection with the same expression of horror that Call felt.

Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking lemonade and eating leftovers. “Want some calamari, Joseph?” he called.

“Thanks, but I prefer my squid straight from the sea to the frying pan.” Mom travels to Perth Amboy, New Jersey, just to get catch-of-the-day squid from the boats off the Raritan Bay, and you can tell. Her fried calamari is the perfect combination of gummy squid and light, crispy batter. But to me, seafood leftovers taste soggy. Mom says she’s turned me into a spoiled calamari connoisseur at an early age.